


The Least Wishes are Orders

by jazztrousers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazztrousers/pseuds/jazztrousers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The least wishes are orders<br/>Born raised and cornered<br/>Was kept fed and watered<br/>They tied me to the radiators</p>
<p>And I was kicked around and locked down<br/>Left in the cold to self harm<br/>This is all that I know<br/>Naked but safe and lifelessly yours</p>
<p>"Naked but Safe" -IAMX</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Midgard had been Avenged, and Loki captive for three weeks, before the Liesmith was permitted his first visitor.

Naturally, it was Thor.

Thor had beseeched his father, Odin, who had turned from his plush, regal armchair and regarded his son with an unsettling mix of expressions that cycled through what appeared to be confusion, mild annoyance, and then settled on a flash of pity, before returning to a blank mask.

“If you must. He is to remain silent at all times, lest you be compromised, but you are free to speak to him.”

“Thank you, Father. I feel it will help.” He nodded, and rose from his humble stance of one knee.

“I know you do.” Odin suddenly replied, after a few moments of quiet thought. Then he returned to gazing out of the window, over the rolling mountainside of Asgard, awash with honeyed amber light in the approaching sunset.

_But you are wrong_ , Odin’s unspoken and un-needed words grew poisonously in Thor’s ears. He knew his father had given up on Loki, that he had mourned the death of his son when Loki had fallen from Bifrost, into the void. The man who had appeared in Midgard and threatened the lives of so many, was not a person the Allfather would accept as his own, or even acknowledge as once being so. And not only that, he thought Thor a fool for continually trying to befriend the vengeful god. Thor knew this, and silently cursed his father for it.

_He might have become your ally once more, Father, if you had not forsaken him._

 ____________________________________

 

Now, Loki sits gracefully cross-legged on a metallic grey bench, the only seat in his sparse cell, in bare feet, and simple, dark tunics. Stripped of his armour, stripped of any magic. His pale features seem even more wan and drawn in contrast to the silver muzzle that is strapped over his mouth.

Thor is on the floor, back against the wall and knees raised. He knows that Loki is gagged this way for his safety, and once more he grumbles internally. _They think him foolish. Gullible_. That if Loki is able to utter even a few words then Thor will be in his thrall.

It is painfully close to the truth, based on past experience.

“Brother,” He begins warmly, “you look thin. Don’t tell me they are malfeeding you? I can speak to the guards, advise them of meals that you will find easier to eat through your mouth piece.” He tries for an amicable chuckle, and gets nothing but a withering glare in response.

“Very well.” The larger male continues, undeterred. “Have you been occupying your time well? I realise you must be bored, with no-one to talk to.”

The look Thor receives in response says _I don’t want to talk to anyone, especially not you_ , as clear as day, as clear as an arrow to the chest. He feels himself become irritated quickly, and then the irritation doubles itself as Thor remembers how quickly Loki can rile him up, without even speaking or moving. Just a few rolls of those expressive, poison-green eyes, and Thor is starting to quietly fume. It’s not fair.

“You know, I had to beg Father just to be allowed in here. You could at least show a little gratitude that I am saving you from your solitude.” At the mention of Odin, Loki inclines his head just a little, giving Thor his full, unwavering gaze.

Then, his eyes crease with silent mirth, and the golden-haired prince can swear he hears muffled chuckles behind the muzzle. Loki is laughing at him. Laughing and slowly shaking his head, as if to say, _Oh, Brother._

Thor rises to his feet almost instantly, fists clenched by his sides, eyes blazing with impotent rage. “Do you mock me, Brother? Does your situation amuse you? All the death, pain and destruction you have wrought, and you still see fit to abuse those who care for you?”

Loki curls in on himself, clutching his belly with one hand, the other braced against his thigh, as he shakes with silent laughter. He revels in Thor’s easy anger.

“Do not laugh at me, you wretched fuck!” Thor bellows, and shoves at a bony, pale shoulder. Loki rolls backwards, feet poised to kick Thor in the face, and the larger man grabs both ankles. He considers shouting for the guards to come in and restrain his brother, but he had dismissed them from their posts when he arrived at the cell, insisting he could handle Loki.

Thor is determined that he still will.

Loki’s ankles feel strangely delicate in his rough hands. The lithe man coiled beneath him does not struggle, he simply waits for Thor to let go, confident that after enough time, he will. His eyes seem huge at this proximity, glittering brilliant emerald, but are rimmed in tired, black and grey shadows. Thor notes how long and thin his brother’s feet are, pale as the rest of him, all but the strip of alabaster stomach that has revealed itself as the Liesmith’s tunic got rucked up his torso in the strange scuffle and subsequent stalemate they now find themselves in.

For reasons he can’t quite fathom, that patch of skin fascinates Thor. His hand floats slowly toward it, as if they were underwater. Thor can’t explain why his mind’s eye is filled with images of how he fancies his brother might look in his natural frost giant state. He just wants to touch that skin, and feel its smoothness, instead of hardened blue ridges.

But then, there is a sharp heel colliding with his cheekbone.

_Perhaps letting go of that ankle was a poor idea,_ Thor muses as he sinks to the ground, but by Mjolnir that was some of the softest, whitest skin he had ever laid his hands on. Loki looms over him, and sits atop the big blonde, pinning him. Long, pale fingers slide toward Thor’s throat, and the bitter venom in his brother’s eyes tells him that Loki means to throttle him to death, right here on his cell floor. He writhes and tries to buck the slight man off him, but it’s too late, Loki’s hands are around his neck, and now Thor cannot even breathe, let alone cry out for help.

He wonders how long his baby brother has been planning his murder. The strange babe his mother and father had one day presented to him as his sibling, with his shock of jet black hair and glowing green eyes. Little Loki, who would crawl into his big brother’s bed after a bad dream, or when he couldn’t sleep, all wobbly lips and clinging arms.

_I love you, Thor_ , he would whisper, _we will always be safe as long as we are together_.

Now, Thor wondered when exactly that had curdled into murderous, bitter jealousy.

Loki, who would never be king.

Loki, the outcast of the house of Odin.

Loki, the baby Frost Giant, son of Laufey.

_Perhaps I had this coming_ , Thor thinks to himself, as his vision clouds darkly. Loki’s hands are vicious, sharp around his windpipe. His own hands flutter uselessly at his chest, still weakly pushing at the dark-haired man but rarely connecting. He drapes one over Loki’s heart, and then, for no reason that his dimming consciousness can provide, Thor slides a large hand under his attacker’s tunic, swirling his fingers over silken skin once more. A calloused fingertip brushes over the dip of a navel, discovers jutting hipbones.

Then, Thor realises that he is breathing air once more. Loki is sitting back on his haunches, looking confused and terrified. He has stopped moving completely.

Thor coughs, taking in thick gulps of air, and sits up slightly. Loki moves back further, shying away from him. It is most bizarre. He lets the hand inside the tunic stroke up over his ribs, over his pectorals, and Thor even feels a hardened nipple prick up against his palm.

He peers up into his brother’s face, eyeing him curiously. “What is wrong, Loki? You could have killed me, just like you wanted. Why are you now petrified?”

Loki simply brings his arms up and outward to his sides, and allows now both of Thor’s hands to roam over his skin. His eyes are wide and panicked, seeming to pledge, _I am concealing nothing_ , and it is then that the older brother realises, that Loki thinks that Thor is searching him, frisking him down for a weapon. And that he would really, really like Thor to stop.

“I know that you have nothing, Brother. I am merely…” He stops there, because he doesn’t really know what he _is_ doing, or why. “Does being touched like this frighten you? Why did you stop fighting back?”

The raven-haired magician simply shivers at the warm hands on his cool skin, and Thor understands. Loki has never been touched like this before. His body is doing things his mind does not understand, and not understanding a thing is unfamiliar to Loki. All the same, he is not trying to stop Thor either.

“You’ve never known a woman’s touch, Loki?” Asks Thor, sitting up fully so Loki is perched in his lap, gaze wilted and now blinking shakily at the other’s glinting armour, instead of into Thor’s eyes. He takes that as a no, and upon further thought, it makes sense. He had never known Loki become close to many, especially not any women. While Thor had been out clumsily fornicating with girls in his boyhood with wild abandon, Loki had probably been… practising magic? Plotting various people’s demises? It was anyone’s guess.

Thor does not get much further with his thoughts, or gently caressing his brother’s chest and stomach, because it appears the new stimulus has been absorbed by Loki’s brain, and he does not like it. A fist sails towards Thor’s jaw, and arms and legs desperately try to scramble out of the hammer-wielder’s reach. But the punch is easy for Thor to block, and this time, his patience for his brother’s strange moods is now gone.

Thor decides he has had enough of those smirking eyes behind that muzzle.

Wrenching two handfuls of linen shirt, he tears it clean in half, and tosses it aside, leaving Loki’s top bare. Loki curls in on himself, trying to cover… Thor isn’t really sure what. It may just be that the raven-haired man has probably never been undressed in front of another person before, not since the two of them were children, bathing together. And, in that case, being forcibly undressed _by_ another person must be pretty unnerving. Thor likes that, and continues.

“Is this enough to rid you of your mad delusions? That you are truly out of options and on your own, now?” The muscular older brother demands loudly as he yanks down Loki’s simple, black pants.

He merely curls up smaller, eyes clenched shut. Perhaps he does not want to look at Thor.

Perhaps he does not want to look at himself.

Turning his back on his brother, naked and helpless on his cell floor, Thor excuses himself.

“If ever you begin to forget your place again, Loki, remember today. Remember this moment, and re-taste your defeat every single time.”

 ___________________________________________

 

A week later, due to “exceptionally good behaviour”, Loki’s muzzle is removed.

He asks only to have another visit with Thor, stating he misses him.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor crushes the Pop Tart he is eating whole in his fist when Tony Stark unexpectedly claps him on the shoulder, having somehow snuck up from behind whilst Thor had been sitting at the kitchen table of the Avenger’s mansion.

“Hey, you’re looking a little glum there, Obelix. Something on your big ol’ mind?” Tony inquires, striking his usual balance between friendly and disinterested, as if he only needs to know about Thor’s mental state in order to complete some programming.

Thor brushes sticky strawberry crumbs from his palm and sighs. “I am sorry, my friend. I have been distracted of late.”

“You wanna tell uncle Tony why? Surely you should be happy, now that your nutjob of a little bro is locked up nice and tight.”

Thor gives a rueful laugh. “I’m afraid that is just it. He is, as you would say, most definitely a nutjob. However, he is still also my brother. He has requested to speak with me, but…” he hesitates, trying to think of the right words to accurately express what is making him feel so uneasy. “…I am feeling cautious about it.”

Tony barks out a laugh and rolls his eyes in a, _well, duh_ , and squeezes Thor’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Hell, you should be. Kid’s got the silver tongue, right? I’m thinking a little chat with him without his Hannibal Lecter mask is going to make you even more of a sad puppy.”

There is a short pause, as Thor tries to decipher what Tony means. “You think I shouldn’t visit him?”

The other man shrugs and runs a hand through his ruffled hair. “I think you’re almost definitely gonna anyway. You’ve got the guilt bad, my friend.”

Thor nods sadly in agreement, golden strands of hair hanging around his downcast face. “I do feel I am to blame for Loki becoming this way, at least in part.”

Tony brushes a speck of motor oil from his cheek. “People don’t just become murdering psychopaths because of some inferiority complex or whatever. Loki? Always was batshit. Circumstances just set it free. Nothing more than that.”

“Perhaps you are correct.” Thor concedes after some consideration. “Thank you, Tony Stark. I shall consider what you’ve said.”

“You pretty much should, I am a genius, after all. Take it easy, big fella.” With that and a wave, he is gone, and Thor is alone with his thoughts once more.

He certainly feels guilt about Loki’s… condition.

He also feels guilty for thinking about how Loki looked naked, on the cell floor, too.

And masturbating.

The first time, it was an accident, at least that’s what Thor likes to tell himself, as he was merely trying to unravel why Loki became so strange and still at having his body touched gently, and why having his clothes removed served as such a deep humiliation to the god of mischief, who let little dent his pride. He theorized that it was possible that Loki disliked the way his body looked for some reason, maybe some kind of inferiority complex, as Tony Stark had suggested.

Then he’d remembered that Loki had been erect and standing proud, even on the ground. That could have been the source of his embarrassment, definitely. He did not want his arousal to be revealed to his brother, even though it was likely to be nothing more than a physical reaction to being touched, or even from being scared.

Then, unfortunately, Thor’s mind could not move past that point, and it became stuck, like a horse in mud. _Loki had an erection from me touching him_. His manhood was a fair size, long and curved like the rest of him. His body was lean but finely muscled, and the paleness of that skin, littered with bruises from the battle in Midgard… He was an attractive man, most assuredly.

 _And not actually your relative by blood_ , Thor’s mind supplied helpfully.

After that, it was all downhill, sticky guilt.

 _Perhaps_ , Thor thought after he was done washing his hands, it was all tied up in Loki’s motivation for attacking the Midgardians. He had always been selfish about Thor’s affections, and had reportedly been hideously jealous after Thor’s meeting with Jane Foster. _Perhaps_ , he was acting this way to try and obtain his brother’s whole attention- _perhaps_ all Loki desired was to have Thor all to himself, and was apparently insane enough to kill anyone who tried to get in the way.

And, with all this in mind, _perhaps_ it would just be wiser to give in and take his unruly brother like a common wench until he learned some manners.

Then again, perhaps not.

 

 

When Thor finally does visit Loki, he is wearing exactly what Director Fury would call a shit-eating grin, sitting in his customary place on the iron bench. He waves cordially as Thor enters.

“Brother! How nice of you to come.”

Thor tries not to raise an eyebrow. “Hello. You seem to be doing better than when I visited you last.”

A dry chuckle, and then, “Does that mean you won’t be stripping me this time, then?”

The god of thunder is grateful no-one other than his venomous snake of a brother is present to witness the almighty blush that decks his cheeks. “You seemed not to enjoy it, so I will not do it again. I… apologise, Brother. I did not mean to humiliate you.”

Loki tilts his head curiously, onyx hair fanning over his shoulder. “But of course you did. Why else would you have done it? Unless you were suddenly overcome with the urge to see my naked form.”

Thor settles in his spot on the floor, leaning against the wall once again. “I was the first, wasn’t I? You seemed confused.”

The magic-maker shrugs haughtily, seemingly annoyed at the topic. “Of course. You’re the only person whose company I keep that has such… _base_ urges.” He spits the word at Thor, and Thor knows that Loki is thinking about Jane Foster, wondering how much of his brother’s body her mortal hands have touched. He wants to tell Loki that his disgust and envy are not necessary, but fears it may not be wise.

“I would wager that you’re wrong. Besides… your body reacted, did it not?” He ventures.

With what could almost be called a pout, except that Loki doesn’t pout, he replies primly, “I was unprepared.”

The larger of the two offers a kind smile. “We can find you a woman, when you are freed. Or perhaps a wench, if you cannot wait.”

“Don’t be idiotic.” Is all he gets in exchange, along with a sneer.

“Some nobles have servant boys, if you’d prefer—“

“Brother, please, I’d really rather not discuss—“

“Unless you want _my_ help, but…”

Silence. Thor would be internally celebrating that he somehow managed to stun his brother into silence, except for the fact that he managed to do so by offering said brother sex, or near enough.

“Your… help? Help with what, exactly?” Loki asks, quiet and suspicious.

“I could… teach you how your body works, in that respect, if you would like. I have experience, you do not.” Thor explains, trying not to sound like he would gain anything of it himself, and that it is a purely altruistic offer.

Loki is silent again for a few more moments, before speaking tentatively. “I… do not think brothers are supposed to do that.”

It’s met with a throaty chuckle. “Brothers are not supposed to try to kill each other, either, but that did not deter you, Loki.”

More silent consideration. Then, “Will I enjoy it?”

“I cannot guarantee that, but I give you my word that I will try.”

The Liesmith rises from the bench and approaches his brother, bare feet slapping against the concrete floor in a way that reverberates around the cell. “I assume you can make it so that we are not interrupted?”

“I sent the guards away.”

“What of Odin?”

“Father rests.” Then, lowly, “Come here, Loki.” Thor had not meant to give that command. He did not like the way it sounded.

Loki reaches Thor’s side of the room and settles on his knees, head tilted curiously. Reaching out, Thor threads blunt fingers through inky locks, before cupping the back of his brother’s neck and leaning in for what he hopes is a soft kiss.

He feels Loki’s lips twitch in protest, no doubt at the scratchiness of his facial hair. But then Loki’s lips are pliant, but cool, delicately returning the kiss with the same still, calm, inquisitiveness. Then, ever the fast learner, Loki stretches and arranges himself in a straddle of Thor’s lap, graceful as ever, lips still locked. Incensed, Thor starts quickly working on disrobing the other man, only parting lips for a second to slide material over Loki’s head, to reveal acres of quivering, translucent skin.

 

 

Thor takes Loki roughly on the floor of his cell, not even bothering to utilise the bed. Loki is wicked beneath him, all liquid movements and sharp arches of his long back. Whispering filthy incantations of pleasure into Thor’s thick, muscular neck, before his sweat-shimmering frame goes rigid, his lips stutter, and he is sated. Thor does not last much longer himself, his brother’s virgin body robbing him of any kind of restraint or control.

____________________________________  
  


Afterward, they lie sprawled on their backs, side by side, staring up at the ceiling, as if stargazing. More kisses are exchanged, and there is a gentleness in Loki’s pale eyes that Thor remembers only from their boyhood.

Standing and clothing himself once more, he says, “I must take my leave, or my absence will become suspicious.”

Loki nods, and pads barefoot over to his stark metal basin, running some water to cleanse himself with. “Very well.”

He then casts a glance over his shoulder to the thunder-bearer, and offers a soft, genuine smile.

“Return soon, Brother.”

“I shall.” Thor smiles warmly in return.

He is almost out of the door, before Loki’s voice halts him.

“Thor?”

“Yes?”

“…Thank you. For this.” And then, “Now that I have experienced this carnal pleasure at your hands… I would have no other.”

Thor laughs heartily, shaking his head. But something in him possessively agrees.


End file.
